After that there came a fierce prickling sensation all over my skin (or what was left of my skin) as though tiny needles were forcing their way out through the surface of the skin from the inside, and this, I realise now, was the growing of the mouse-fur.
Far away in the distance, I heard the voice of The Grand High Witch yelling, “Five hundred doses! This stinking little carbuncle has had five hundred doses and the alarm-clock has been smashed and now vee are having instantaneous action!” I heard clapping and cheering and I remember thinking: I am not myself any longer! I have gone clear out of my own skin!
I noticed that the floor was only an inch from my nose.
I noticed also a pair of little furry front paws resting on the floor. I was able to move those paws. They were mine!
At that moment, I realised that I was not a little boy any longer. I was A MOUSE.
“Now for the mouse-trrrap!” I heard The Grand High Witch yelling. “I’ve got it right here! And here’s a piece of cheese!”
But I wasn’t going to wait for that. I was off across the platform like a streak of lightning! I was astonished at my own speed! I leapt over witches’ feet right and left, and in no time at all I was down the steps and on to the floor of the Ballroom itself and skittering off among the rows of chairs. What I especially liked was the fact that I made no sound at all as I ran. I was a swift and silent mover. And quite amazingly, the pain had all gone now. I was feeling quite remarkably well. It is not a bad thing after all, I thought to myself, to be tiny as well as speedy when there is a bunch of dangerous females after your blood. I selected the back leg of a chair and squeezed up against it and kept very still.
In the distance, The Grand High Witch was shouting, “Leave the little stinkpot alone! It is not vurth bothering about! It is only a mouse now! Somebody else vill soon catch it! Let us get out of here! The meeting is over! Unlock the doors and shove off to the Sunshine Terrace to have tea vith that idiotic Manager!”
Bruno
I peeped round the leg of the chair and watched the hundreds of witches’ feet walking out through the doors of the Ballroom. When they had all gone and the place was absolutely silent, I began to move cautiously about on the floor. Suddenly I remembered Bruno. He must surely be around here somewhere, too. “Bruno!” I called out.
I wasn’t seriously expecting that I would be able to speak at all now that I had become a mouse, so I got the shock of my life when I heard my own voice, my own perfectly normal rather loud voice, coming out of my tiny mouth.
It was wonderful. I was thrilled. I tried it again. “Bruno Jenkins, where are you?” I called out. “If you can hear me, give a shout!”
My voice was exactly the same and just as loud as it had been when I was a boy. “Hey there, Bruno Jenkins! ” I called. “Where are you?”
There was no answer.
I pottered about between the seat-legs trying to get used to being so close to the ground. I decided I rather liked it. You are probably wondering why I wasn’t depressed at all. I found myself thinking, What’s so wonderful about being a little boy anyway? Why is that necessarily any better than being a mouse? I know that mice get hunted and they sometimes get poisoned or caught in traps. But little boys sometimes get killed, too. Little boys can be run over by motor-cars or they can die of some awful illness. Little boys have to go to school. Mice don’t. Mice don’t have to pass exams. Mice don’t have to worry about money. Mice, as far as I can see, have only two enemies, humans and cats. My grandmother is a human, but I know for certain that she will always love me whoever I am. And she never, thank goodness, keeps a cat. When mice grow up, they don’t ever have to go to war and fight against other mice. Mice, I felt pretty certain, all like each other. People don’t.